Month: January 2009

So said Ben Ottewell, midway through Gomez’s set at the Espy last night. I’d spent most of my day in an air conditioned office, and couldn’t believe how hot it actually was when I stepped out of it at half past five and almost got knocked over by the wall of heat that hit me: thirty eight blistering degrees, apparently, and it didn’t cool down quickly. After having dinner down by the beach in St…

It’s a shame I’m not around in the UK to see the fruits of the atheist bus campaign trundling around the capital telling everyone that “there’s probably no God. Now stop worrying and enjoy your life.” Still, even from this distance it’s nice to see something positive in the news for once. Of course it was inevitable that someone would start complaining about it eventually, and it’s no surprise to see that it’s the notoriously…

So a while ago now I was on the 67 tram one evening after work. It always fills up pretty quickly on its way up St Kilda Road, and as usual we were standing room only before we were half way to the city. I think I was staring out of the window, or reading my book, and so I didn’t notice a couple of older ladies–maybe in their mid 60s–until the couple opposite me…

As part of an ongoing attempt to post more stuff on here, here’s another short entry of suitably diminishing quality: So the area around my office here on the edge of Melbourne’s St Kilda seems to have its fair share of crazies hanging around. A few weeks ago, for example, my boss told me that, on driving into the office on his way back from lunch, he disturbed an otherwise normal looking middle aged lady…

So I’m thinking that the bottle of wine and accompanying block of posh cheese that I found on my desk this morning on my return to work might have been a nice gesture on the part of a well meaning co-worker (or possibly my company, although who knows as there’s no accompanying note, or explanation, and no one else seems to have one…) Might have been, that is, if it wasn’t for the fact that…

It was probably a bad sign when, on the way into the city to see the Mystery Jets, it became apparent that the kids on the other side of our train carriage were also going to the same gig. They were discussing their fake ID strategy for getting themselves admitted to the venue, which included the convulted explanations they were going to use for why the names on their tickets didn’t match the ones on…